I am excited and terrified by this process of telling my story. On
the one hand, there is therapeutic value in finally getting this off my chest.
On the other hand, I expose many of my weaknesses/insecurities/shortcomings for
the world to see. It’s kinda like pulling down my own pants in front of
everyone on the playground before the bully can do it.
There is a tremendous relief in this approach as it allows me to
take back all of the power I had yielded to this bully; the
shame/fear/disappointment I have felt since the accident has functioned like a
bully that threatened to expose me to the world for the failure I had become if
I didn’t keep my head down and my mouth shut. I was constantly bullied by the thought
that I would never be able to recover from this. By coming out and telling
my story (in my words), I am now in control of the narrative. That means I can
tell the story as it happened and write the ending I choose.
For this endeavor to be successful, I have to be honest and own up
to my part in this story. I must resist the temptation to view history through
a soft lens or overly dramatize. But, let’s face it…I have to confess to fits
of exaggeration when retelling stories. My intention is to tell my story in such
a way that it is lighthearted yet faithful to the truth.
Telling this story is painful as it awakens sleeping demons that
once taunted and tortured me. However, it is necessary to recount these events
as it forces me to reconcile what I actually remember against foggy memories,
stories that people tell and the scribbled ravings in my journals from those
time periods.
I would not be writing this story were it not for an accident that
resulted from my carelessness while building a workshop in my back yard several
years ago. In classic MyKO fashion, I decided that I didn’t need any help setting
the main 4x8 beam that would span the 18 feet of the building…in the driving
rain.
I stood the beam up and turned for a split second to pick up my
hammer and BWONGGG! The damned thing whacked me right between the eyes and
knocked me out. My recollection of what happened after that moment and over the
next few years is fragmented.
One of the most troubling aspects of my recovery has been
accounting for gaps in my memory. To give you an idea of what this feels like:
Birdy and I
decided that we were gonna watch the entire series of Madmen (for anyone who
has not seen this show, I strongly recommend you check it out. I was hooked
from the first episode. We are now on season 4 and I just can’t get enough).
A few months
ago, AMC (the network that was smart enough to pick up this show) decided to
replay every single episode from every season back-to-back in advance of the
final episode. Birdy had the tremendous foresight to record all of them on the
DVR (thank you for the extra storage capacity, DIRECTV!).
Regrettably,
there are a few scattered episodes here and there that didn’t get recorded or
only got partially recorded.
Because you
have been keeping up with the story, you can sorta piece together the missing
details when you skip from Season 2, Episode 4 to halfway through Episode 6.
Now, imagine that you wake up October 14 and you can’t clearly
remember anything that happened since September 2. There are many such gaps in
my memory. Many, if not all, of these gaps were likely the result of severe
alcohol poisoning and sleep deprivation which exacerbated my condition.
These last several months have afforded me clarity and I have
begun rebuilding my life. I have come to accept that I cannot change the past, real
or imagined. I only have control over this moment and what comes after. That
has been my focus and..so far, so good.
Stick around…the best parts of the story are yet to come.
-MyKO
No comments:
Post a Comment